Fýrgebræc
by TenTenD
Summary: The King's oldest son is, to put it politely, simple. Lyanna Stark thinks it a fitting, if not humiliating, punishment to be given to him. But then, the Red Keep is full of secrets. Or that AU in which the mystery knight is not so lucky as to escape detection.


Lyanna picked up her pace, breath coming in short gasps, as she hurried across the field of dewy grass and meadow flowers. Even dressed for riding she could not escape. The thought wrapped around her mind, its hold strong, inexorable, frightening. Lyanna was chilled to the marrow of her bones by it. _She could not escape._ Still, she had to try. Perhaps the gods would take pity on her and allow her to live through the ordeal.

Behind her the sound of hooves pounding the earth grew stronger and louder. If she could reach her horse. But nay, such dreams were not to be. The maiden dared a look behind. Her pursuers were nearly upon her. For a brief moment a strange thought crossed her mind. She should give up. She should simply cease running and allow herself to fall to the ground and be caught and bound. What was the worse they could do to her?

Just at that moment, a hand grabbed hold of her tunic and wrenched her to an abrupt halt. One of her legs caught on a stone and Lyanna started falling. Instinctively, she pushed her arms forth, thinking to lessen the blow. But she never made it to the ground. Instead, another rider came to block any path to escape.

She was hoisted off the ground and thrown over a saddle with all the grace a sack of grain might display. The movement, however, had been enough to cut off Lyanna's air supply. The words that followed nearly stopped her heart. "Do not struggle. The King will see you now."

The King, the madman. Lyanna cursed her ill-fate and her desire to help. She should have kept well away. Alas, hindsight was ever clearer and more than useless in such circumstances. "Ser, this must be a mistake," she tried to speak, hoping that perhaps her plight might make an impression upon them.

"'Tis no mistake, maiden." The assured answer made him want to punch the knight. Were knights not supposed to be gallant and help ladies? Clearly the Kingsguard operated with very different requirements. "'Twas you who carried that shield, lady, and it was out mission to find you. That is all and there can be no mistake."

But there was. Lyanna glowered and bit her lower lip to keep from doing something that might ruin her house. Her actions could construe female folly. If the truth was known, however, her whole house might suffer from it. Aye, 'twas best for all involved if she braved the King once. Meanwhile, she could occupy her time with throwing silent invectives towards the knight who'd captured her. Lyanna could not believe she had actually admired the man. More the fool she.

Arthur Dayne might be good with a lance, but he was no more and no less than a brute. Like his brethren. And she was at their mercy. Lyanna decided then and there that when she managed to see her brothers again, she would cut them all to bits.

Until then, she would concern herself with surviving the King and his wrath.

* * *

Lyanna had never considered herself foolishly brave. She knew when to fear and she knew when to pull back from the flame. Except she had just made it clear that she didn't, that she was foolishly brave and she just might pay for it with her life if the King's face was anything to go by.

As she stared in the sunken violet eyes, it occurred to the sole daughter of Winterfell that she was too young to die. She was just four-and-ten, for the love of the gods. Four-and-ten and dead. It was not fair. She had so much left to do. She wanted to wed – not Robert, if it could be helped – and have children of her own to whom she might teach her riding skills, how to climb a tree and a great other number of things.

But by the look on the King's face, she would have none of that. Lyanna resisted the urge to allow her teeth to clatter. She might be afraid to death, but she would not show it.

King Aerys was in the middle of a tirade from which Lyanna had understood bits and pieces; specifically those that concerned chopping, flaying and burning. Her stomach constricted painfully. He should at least leave something of her to bury. It was only decent.

"Your Grace," a soft voice cut in, distracting Lyanna from her morbid thoughts, "if I may." Her eyes came to a short, rotund man who sported no hair on his head and looked at the world through a pair of beady eyes. The long robes and soft-looking hands rather put Lyanna in the mind of a scribe. But the man was not one such. In truth, Lyanna knew him to be the one they called the Spider.

"Speak," the King grudgingly allowed.

"Mayhap I might suggest something," he began. "This here lady is Lyanna of House Stark." The King hadn't known. Lyanna nearly swooned. He would have had her executed like a common criminal. "She is Lord Stark's daughter." Lord Stark who had so very recently refused an invitation to sit the King's council. Lyanna shuddered.

"I see your meaning." The King's words brought a painful jolt quivering through Lyanna. She did not see the meaning and it was vital for her to. "I daresay it is quite clever." The maiden wondered if king and servant shared a mind. "Say, lady Stark," the crowned head began mockingly, "what would you be willing to do to ensure that this little escapade does not end in a bloodbath." Insane and scheming. Lyanna was duly impressed.

The correct answer was not unknown to her. Still, she had to force herself to speak it. "Anything Your Grace commands," she said between clenched teeth, pride she didn't know she possessed crushed beneath the weight of fear. The North could not stand alone and no one would take her side in this.

"Well, at least she is not stupid," the King was murmuring. "Call her brother the eldest one."

It was difficult to say what Brandon thought the moment he stepped into the room to see his sister dressed man's clothes, kneeling at the King's feet. It was even more difficult to discern what crossed his mind when his eyes landed on the painted shield with a laughing weirwood.

"Brandon Stark," the King spoke, his face waxen, pale and sickly, "it seems your sister has done quite a remarkable feat. She has fooled us all." There was no escaping it. Brandon had been watching the melee when the unknown knight had acted the defender. He would not know truth from lie. "You do know that I have declared the mystery knight a traitor, do you not?"

And the something happened which Lyanna had not thought possible. Her brother lowered himself to his knees and prostrate before the King, he begged for her life. "Your Grace, my sister is just a foolish child. She is unknowing and meant no harm. I beg that you would spare her life."

"Spare her life, you say." The man liked inflicting pain. Lyanna forced her eyes to the ground. He was toying with them. "There is one way I might consider this request. The lady is in your care here, is she not?"

"Aye, Your Grace," Brandon replied, looking hopeful. Lyanna wanted to kick him for it.

"Then I shall propose the following, to ensure the loyalty of your house, allow this here woman," he pointed to Lyanna, one long nail coming dangerously close to her eye it seemed to her, "to enter my house."

There were a few ways to do that and none of them appealed to Lyanna overly much. Brandon offered a weak protest. "Your Grace, my sister has been promised to Lord Baratheon."

The King waved a hand dismissively. "By my order the deal shall be broken."

"Your Grace, if it be allowed, who would take my sister then?" Her brother was concerned, as he should be. Lyanna wondered briefly what the King's aim was.

"Why, my firstborn, of course."

* * *

The King had two children by his long-suffering and, to Lyanna's mind, extraordinary wife. The first was called Rhaegar, the second Viserys. It was a saying very popular within the Kingdoms that when a Targaryen was born the gods flipped a coin. This coin, far from being forged by any king's order, sported two sides, opposites of one another. The first lent itself to greatness, and such Targaryens had been prosperous kings, the other to madness, and such Targaryens were the nightmare of the realm.

The King's firstborn had, by some unfortunate circumstance, fallen in the second category. To put it politely, he never evolved any farther than the age of childhood. He was slow, dim-witted and quite unfit to ever rule. Which was exactly why the King had overlooked him in the succession and declared that his second born was to inherit.

What he meant by the alliance suggested was to humiliate House Stark.

But Lyanna had decided she would do anything for her life and that of her family. Thus, she begged of Brandon to accept. "Would you rather that we a die?" she'd hissed at his hesitancy.

"I see, Your Grace. House Stark would be honoured," Brandon had answered in the end.

The King's triumphant look was nearly too much for Lyanna to bear.

* * *

Robert looked like he had swallowed something vile. "You," he rasped, looking at his erstwhile betrothed. "How could you?"

Lyanna would have fainted glee at the purple hue which stole over his features had she not been sworn best behaviour by an enraged Brandon. Putting on an appropriately saddened mien, Lyanna looked at Robert with begging eyes. "My lord, I am so very sorry."

"You have shamed me before the realm. What manner of woman garbs herself in chainmail and plate of armour to joust, if she be not savage?" Music to her ears, Lyanna was not sure if she could keep her jot to herself. "I trusted Ned. I trusted him when he said his sister might prove my match."

His disappointment was like a balm. Certainly, she would be wed to a dimwit. But at least that one would have an excuse for his faults. "I cannot bear this, my lord," Lyanna forced the words out her mouth, trying her best to channel contrition. "Pray leave me."

"Oh, I shall, fear not." What he said next was something that made Lyanna blush to the tips of her ears. Thankfully, she hadn't been allowed to remain alone with him. From another corner of the room, Eddard stood to his feet and walked towards them.

"Robert, enough. This situation is unpleasant enough as it is." Her dear brother, Lyanna thought, as she watched him take Robert towards the door. He had good reason to fear.

When he returned, she was still sitting in her place, yet a smile had curled her lips upwards. "How? What is there to smile about, sister?" He was not angry. He could not be, he had no right. After all, he was as much to blame as she. "We have lost an important alliance."

She could care less about that. Lyanna gave him a long look. "Have you ever considered that I might think kinder of a madmen than I might of an atrocious one?" At that, Ned turned upon her with a glare. "Oh, do not take on so. I've told you time and again that if ever I had the choice, I would choose to bestow my hand elsewhere."

"And a dimwit shall be to your satisfaction?" He was cross, she understood. Robert was his friend. "I never dreamt it would end like this. I would not have done it had I known."

"But you have. And here we are." Lyanna finally stood to her feet. "I care not for your regrets. We are safe and mayhap nothing else matters for now."

* * *

Little Viserys Targaryen stood before her a curious look upon his face. "So you are the one my father wants to wed my brother." There was no pleasure or displeasure in that statement. They were words, plain and simple.

"Aye, Your Grace." Lyanna, in turn, studied the Prince of Dragonstone. He looked similar to his father, or what his father might have looked like if he took the time to comb his hair and cut his nails. House Targaryen was known for its splendid specimens,

"There is but one have you know." For one so young, he was awfully serious. "I love my brother, Lady Stark. There is no one like him." A warning. Lyanna smiled. "Believe what you will, my lady, but know this, I shall be king one day and a king's power is absolute."

How strange. He was usually so very self-possessed when in company of others. "I understand, Your Grace." But she was not yet so cruel, nor so heartless as to harm one who could not defend himself. "What exactly would you have of me?"

"Kindness." Not an easy task. Lyanna blinked slowly. "He is not well my brother. Kindness is all you have to give him."

"Then it is what I shall give to him." Not a marriage meant for songs, but Lyanna supposed it could have been far worse.

"Words, Lady Stark. We shall see how actions compare." He left her afterwards to think over the conversation and try finding some hidden meaning.

* * *

 _Do what you must._ That had been father's response to Brandon's letter. It came by raven. Lyanna was not at all surprised. Rickard Stark was not a man to flounder. He had assessed the situation and determined the best solution was compliance. And so they would.

Lyanna had not been allowed to ride, of course, for fear that someone might attempt to hamper the King's plans. She had, instead, been coerced into sharing a wheelhouse with her future good-brother. The child had more of his father in him than Lyanna would have thought. Still, this was her lot and she would endure.

Her father's words had been that she should do as she must and Lyanna would do exactly that. It was a deal. A deal that she made with herself the moment Ser Dayne threw her upon his horse. Anything and everything, that was what she was willing to do for her life and that of her house. And if that made her a sinner, then so be it.

Placidly, she kept her eyes on the outside world, watching one side of the road without a word. They would reach King's Landing soon. And she would meet her fate at a long last. Lyanna drew in a shaky breath.

"Is aught amiss, my lady?" the young Prince questioned looking away from his wooden soldiers.

"Nay, Your Grace," she assured him. "What could possibly be amiss?" A thin smile stretched her lips. What indeed, she thought ruefully. There was no room for any such nonsense.

* * *

Brandon helped her out of the wheelhouse with a deft hand. "A moment, sister," he whispered, adjusting her cloak slightly. "There is something I want you to know."

Lyanna caught onto his arm and offered a small smile. "Nay, do not." She had guessed his meaning well enough without having to hear the words. She could not hear them. "I do it for all of us, Brandon, but mostly for myself. You see, I do not wish to die."

"How simple you make it sound." So Ned had told him. Lyanna was not entirely surprised. She nodded quickly. "I have misjudged you." And that was all the apology he would ever offer upon the subject. Understanding that fully well, Lyanna let go of his arm, the bitter sting of tears upon her.

"Look what you have done now," she murmured hoarsely. "I am to meet my husbands. I cannot look like a watering pot." Not that it would matter to the man she was to wed. All the same it was for herself that she wished to look dignified. "Come, we should away before night comes."

And they spoke no more of it, nor would they again until late into their lives when both would be proud parents. For the time being, however, the Stark siblings had more pressing matters to attend to. "Do you think I shall manage?" Lyanna questioned, in a strange moment of vulnerability. "I've never thought of my marriage in such terms as the ones that will serve for it now."

"I think you shall do well," Brandon insisted, his thumb rubbing circled onto the back of her hand. "By all accounts, Rhaegar Targaryen is simple, but not as his father at all. I daresay you shall have the husband all women dream of." At her questioning glance he chuckled. "He will listen to everything you say and do your bidding without question."

And she should wilt and die in want of a challenge. Lyanna smiled back nonetheless. Better him than Robert who would bridle her and make her ill with an unsuitable role. "I pray it be so." His encouragement meant a lot to her. Lyanna squeezed his hand and he returned the gesture fondly. "It seems I shall wed before you, brother. And you were so very proud to be the fist."

"I think my bride will understand." The nonchalant reply put a frown on Lyanna's face. "None of that."

* * *

Rhaegar Targaryen could have easily been a giant. Lyanna watched the man with the placid expression. He had half hidden himself behind the Queen who was a full head shorter than him. It would have been amusing, had that not been her future husband. Ah, but fate spared no one. Lyanna dropped into a formal curtsy before the Queen and her entourage, trying her hardest not to appear like she was gawking although the gods knew she was.

Had it not been for previous knowledge and the expression forever ingrained upon the oldest prince's face, Lyanna would have had a hard time naming the man witless. He was handsome as most Targaryens, with a river of silver-blonde tresses and striking deep violet eyes. That made Lyanna decidedly uncomfortable. He was a boy in a man's body. Likely, he knew not what was expected of him regarding her. The thought made Lyanna queasy.

"What are you hiding for?" the King boomed. "Come out now and meet your bride." Rhaegar pouted at his father's words, but did as he was told, stepping out from behind his mother gingerly. Lyanna could see the worry in the Queen's eyes. Her resolve did not falter, though.

She would make him a kind wife, the she-wolf decided as she watched him approach cautiously. She would not lay blame on him for what could not be helped. Aye, Lyanna would try to help if she could.

"Bride, Your Grace?" His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "For me?" He looked at her then. The shock of it nearly sent her reeling. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest and Lyanna could not help but frown. Aye, it was plain enough that her body recognised him for a man, even as her mind battled the notion.

The King did not look pleased. "Aye, boy. She's yours. What are you waiting for, lady?"

A special signal, she supposed. But she was not going to get one of those. Lyanna's arm fell away from her brother and she stepped towards the Prince. Again, she curtsied, not as deep as before. "May I?" she questioned, her hand resting upon his arm without waiting for a reply. He flinched and she nearly drew away. But then he relaxed.

"Your Grace," she said slowly, "you and I shall be spending a lot of time together. I thought it would be pleasant if we could know one another a bit beforehand so I have travelled here to meet you." It was as far from the truth as could be, but Lyanna did not know what else to say.

"Go on then," the King groused. "Be off with you. Take her to the gardens or wherever you deem fit."

"Would that please my lady?" Rhaegar asked of her absently.

"The gardens?" His voice had been different, for just a moment. Or mayhap she'd dreamt it. "I should love to see the gardens."

Not that there was much to see, Lyanna was certain. Winter was upon them again. Flowers would have wilted already. She took Rhaegar's arm and fixed her hand in its crook. She wondered how she was to live her life with him, this man who was more child than anything else.

"Tell me of yourself, Your Grace. What do you like to do? What pleases you?" If she anything of children then that was that they loved to talk about themselves. It ought to keep him busy and give her time to contemplate. Aye, that should do very well indeed.

* * *

Rhaegar wondered if he ought to run away. His obvious problems have kept him relatively safe at court, to the point where he was not burdened by anything. And then came Lyanna Stark. They actually wanted to wed her to him. Due to his state of mind, a wedding hadn't discussed since his father had chosen his brother as heir. For who could possibly wish to become the wife of a dimwit? And that had suited Rhaegar.

It started a long time ago, he supposed, his role. It began with a vision of sorts. A vision that had scared out of him all desire to rule, be loved and revered. It had been of him, he knew, from the way the other man in it roared his name. They were fighting, somewhere near a river. And he lost that fight, his chest crushed, rubies and blood spilling everywhere. And Rhaegar did not want that. He did not wish to die.

So he had started pretending. Slowly, but surely, he slipped into his mask until no one could distinguish it for what it was. He was not sorry for it. Better they think him a clawless dragon than try to kill him for his power.

Lyanna Stark had ruined that. If she was to be his wife, then he would likely have no peace, nor much means of concealing the truth from her. Yet he would have to attempt it. For all of them. He would have to keep his secret or end up as he'd been in his vision, a corpse in bloody waters.

* * *

Arthur was already waiting for him in the narrow tunnel. "Your Grace," he greeted in hushed tones, resting his frame against an uneven wall. This was the only living being he trusted with his secret. And for good reasons. "What exactly do you wish to know?"

"Why her?" His father had tried only once before to arrange a marriage for him, and that had ended up in failure. "Was she not to wed Robert Baratheon?"

"Aye," Arthur confirmed. "It is a longer, more complicated story, but in short, we had an unusual competitor at the tourney and for some reason the King was convinced someone plotted against him. Thus we were ordered to find the knight and bring him before His Grace." The Kingsguard sighed. "We found the shield on her. The only evidence. It was enough to convince the King of her guilt."

"He means to keep the Starks in check." Close enough to watch, in a position they could not protest to, but one that did not give them actual power, not even the illusion of it. A clever plan. "At least we know that insanity does not remove wiliness from man no more than punishment would. What sort of woman is she?"

"Brave, wilful. She is trouble, my friend," Arthur told him with a smile. "Her loyalty is to her family."

"As it should be." Rhaegar nodded his head. "I shall wait then and see how this plays out."

"A wise decision, no doubt." Arthur moved away from the wall.

* * *

His mother watched him with sad eyes. "She seems a good woman, this lady Lyanna. I am certain you shall get on well." He watched her back with uncertainty and feigned innocence. "The Starks are of the North, my child. What do you know of the North."

Gods, he did not think she wished to know. Rhaegar leaned into her touch as she combed long fingers through his hair. "They worship the old gods there." It was frowned upon by the religion of the Seven, but Rhaegar could care less. "It snows all the time there, no matter the season."

"Aye, I daresay your bride shall find out winter close to her summer." His mother worried. She worried that Lyanna would treat him poorly. She worried that he would not please the king even in this. She worried, as all mothers were wont to, for her son. And he could do nothing to ease her burden.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he was a fiend of the lowest order. It was selfish of him to pretend as he was. It was more than that; it was cruel. He knew it caused his mother pain. Alas, the instinct of survival ran far stronger in him than he would have wished. He wanted to live, the throne be damned.

"Do you like her, my son?" Rhaella continued to stroke his tresses. "Is she someone you shall be content with?" That eh could not answer. His mother sighed. "My poor child."

Rhaegar though he would be content enough with her. Lyanna Stark hadn't seemed of a mind to cause trouble, if only for the safety of her family. She would likely ignore him for most of the time and see to her own needs.

* * *

"A child?" Rhaegar could hardly believe his ears. "In two year's time, she must breed or my father will have her and her family executed?" That certainly complicated matters. "Are you sure, Dayne?"

"That is what I heard. I would not presume to know His Grace's mind. He might yet decide one year to be more than enough." An apologetic look took over his friend's face. "She hasn't learned of it yet. But she will be told."

"I daresay the maiden shan't be pleased." Which woman would be? Rhaegar shook his head to dislodge the thought. "I suppose there is no escaping it." The King meant to tie the Starks with the strongest bonds he was capable of finding. It was understandable and worrisome. "Were there any specific requirements mentioned besides a time limit?"

The Kingsguard shook his head. "A couple of years is not a lot of time. The girl is just four-and-ten." Barely older than his own mother had been when giving birth to him, Rhaegar considered. "I know not what to make of the King's plan."

"We must wait for the right moment, Dayne. And it is not now." He waved away his friend's concern. Aye, the King would be taken care of, but not rashly. Rhaegar needed to be careful.

* * *

Lyanna shifted uncomfortably, covered in a simple linen chemise as she was. The Queen watched her impassively as the other women took measurements. A wedding gown was apparently needed and it had to be made from scratch as none of the ones she had with her were of any use, being too plain, too old, or too dark for the occasion. Lyanna did not truly understand why it mattered, she did not think anyone would pay it mind. They would probably be much too busy speculating.

Alas the Queen was not in agreement and so Lyanna was to suffer through a fitting. At least she had a choice in which materials she liked best, and the colours, provided that they were not too dark. "This one would bring out your eyes best," one of the seamstress' helpers told her, holding up a lustrous piece of cloth embroidered with a delicate flower pattern, tastefully unobtrusive. The soft grey tone helped matters too. Lyanna reached out and touched a finger to the smooth surface, tracing a vine's path.

"It is very pretty." She looked with just a hint of doubt towards the Queen. Rhaella Targaryen did not speak much. And the two Septas that were forever in her company did not help matters. They rather put Lyanna at unease. "Your Grace, I like this one best."

"An appropriate choice," Rhaella approved. She held her own hand out and the helper passed the cloth to her. "Aye, this should command attention with its details." And take it off of her son. Lyanna did not say that out loud, but she understood the Queen would have been thinking somewhere along the same lines. "Very well, let us use this then. I expect it shan't take anymore than a few days at best."

The seamstress looked horrified and Lyanna felt sorry for her. It would be much work, to be sure.

"Aye, Your Grace," the woman said, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

* * *

"He is my son and, even in spite of his condition, I love him more than my own life." They were quiet words. They were warning words. Lyanna blinked, her eyes resting on the reflection in the looking glass. The Queen stood behind her, half a head taller, fingers coiled painfully around Lyanna's arm. "Wherever the King may grant you keep, I will know all that goes on."

A mother through and through, a true dragon. Lyanna inclined her head, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. It was not the moment. "I mean him no harm."

"I care not what you mean, Lady Lyanna. I care what your actions are." A young boy had told her something similar a lifetime ago. "Hurt him, even a little, and I shall repay you tenfold." An out and out threat.

"And if I bring him joy?" The Queen looked doubtful. Lyanna lowered her gaze to the ground.

"Then I shall repay you a thousand times over." That sort of bargain Lyanna liked. "You shall understand when you have your own children."

The shocked look on her face was cause enough for an explanation and an unsettling feeling which took over Lyanna. Something was not quite right.

* * *

Lyanna smothered a curse as she was laced in tightly into her new dress. Apparently, in King's landing not breathing was considered quite appealing. Unfortunately for Lyanna, her lungs were rather too fond of air and she too fond of her life to not protest at such folly. The laces were loosened, grudgingly. She suspected it had more to do with them fearing the bride might die before vows were exchanged than any concern for her comfort. Still, small victories did count.

"This should do," the Queen said. "You may change out of the dress, lady Lyanna."

Since the preparations for the weddings were underfoot she had not seen nor heard from her prospective husband. Instead, she'd been in the care of the Queen, attending to lessons upon courtly etiquette and familiarising herself with life in the King's court.

Of course, in the privacy of her own home every lady was educated, at least in a small measure, in such rules. But Lyanna also became aware that there were certain subtleties that she would have missed on her own. It paid well to give her attention to the Queen. In a sense, she was now being given weapons for another sort of battle, one of words and wits and wills. And this one she would have to win keeping in mind that her head would fall otherwise.

And then there was the King's worrisome ultimatum. A child. Lyanna was not sure how she would lead that horse to water, let alone get the beast to drink. It was daunting, but not hopeless. Or so she told herself.

* * *

The library in the Red Keep was far smaller than the one of Winterfell. Even so, it boasted an impressive amount of books and scrolls. Lyanna had been allowed time to pursue what she would, given that the Queen had other responsibilities. It was on one such occasion that she came upon one Arthur Dayne, leafing through a tome.

"Ser Dayne," she greeted, her voice wry. She'd not forgotten his treatment of her at Harrenhal. He looked up from the book and gave her a dispassionate glance. "How gallant you are, ser."

"What would be the point of such pretence between us, my lady?" he asked, replacing the tome of a shelf and taking another.

Lyanna looked at the book. "A reader, ser?"

"Each with his own passion, lady."His response prompted a slight flush from her, the allusions not lost o the she-wolf.

Lyanna brushed past him and took the tome he had put back. She opened it, leafed through the contents of the book and was surprised to see it contained notes. Why would Ser Dayne wish to read notes made by Maesters upon the properties of elements and their effect upon humours.

"Your passion seems to lie in knowledge gathering. A strange thing that you would turn to the sword." She closed the book and put it on the shelf.

"A strange thing that you would choose to plague me out of all the inhabitants of the keep," he answered, something in his voice warning her away. He had a secret, Lyanna decided, and he wished dearly to keep it.

For the moment, she would allow it. "I daresay I will be better served keeping company with the fool." She turned away and left him there. Yet she had already decided she would keep an eye on the man. At the very least it would give her something to do.

* * *

When finally came the day of her wedding, Lyanna felt more queasy than she had ever remembered being. She was, nonetheless, forced to don her dress and fasten her maiden cloak about her dainty shoulders. It was time to act the saviour.

Brandon, who had remained in King's Landing all the while, would be the one to lead her down the aisle. Lyanna would have preferred it to be her father. But the King had insisted upon Brandon. It made sense, of course. Brandon was the heir. If Rickard were to come, who was to say he'd not bring an army with him? But with his son in attendance, he might think twice about any sort of attack.

She was given in the care of her new husband, or rather the Prince was given in her keeping. Lyanna was not entirely certain how she would be able to fill her role, but decided that worrying over the matter before the eyes of the realm would do little good. Thus she concentrated on speaking her vows and making sure Rhaegar muddled through his.

The poor man. Had he had even a bit more with, he would have been quite a catch. Even without being heir apparent. A pity truly.

"Here, Your Grace," she said softly, framing his face between her hands. She rose to her tiptoes and brushes a chaste kiss to his lips in deference to custom. The response of the crowds was more stunned than joyful, but Lyanna herself would not have been pleased at feigned happiness. "Let us away."

She took his hand and started leading the way down the stairs, afraid something might happen and her chances would be dashed. But she needn't have, Simple her husband might be, but he was in command of his limbs. Lyanna relaxed gradually.

His stare, however, made her tense once more as soon as she felt it. It was a telltale burn, the knowledge of being watched. She did not look at him, however. The gods knew what she might say or do then and she needed to keep her wits about her. Aye, that she did.

* * *

She shared a name with the woman he'd called with his dying breath in one of those wretched visions. Rhaegar watched his bride dance with Lord Velaryon. Self-possessed and graceful, she had polished quite a mask for herself, but beneath it there was something wild, something which had no name.

Rhaegar toyed with the idea of revealing it all to her, his true state of mind, the visions. But as soon as the notion came, he dismissed it. Likely she would think him dangerous beyond his seemingly placid insanity. Or she would betray him. Neither option suited him. The Prince sighed and drank from his watered wine.

"What is it?" his mother questioned. "Shall I call your lady wife back?"

Adopting the best innocent mien he could, Rhaegar shook his head. "She looks pretty when she dances." He'd long since learned that truth was associated with simplicity, so he spoke thus, as if unthinking.

Yet should he take a chance nonetheless?

* * *

There was no proper bedding ceremony. Lyanna knew not who she ought to thank for it. Instead, the Prince and she had been led away from the drunken guests and taken to a collection of chambers that were to serve for the wedding night. A cold knot had formed where her stomach ought to be and Lyanna glanced at the man who sat on the edge of the bed without a care in the world.

These were his rooms, Lyanna understood after a quick perusal. Unintentionally, her eyes landed on something underneath the bed. It gleamed and that was shy her attention had been drawn to it in the first place.

"I am tired," she heard her husband say. Taking pity, Lyanna nodded her head in understanding.

"Then you ought to sleep," she allowed, walking towards him gently, despite her desire to see whatever was under the bed. She would do so after he'd fallen asleep.

It took cajoling, convincing and a bit of insistence to get him into bed and under the covers. Lyanna joined him, but kept well away from actually touching the length of her body to his. It was likely awkward for the both of them, though more so for her, as she was aware of the whole things to a higher degree. She bade him a good night and turned on her side, having decided against facing him. She felt the bed dip and the mattress tremble with his movement, but shut her eyes tightly and pretended to fall asleep. He would follow her lead in the end.

* * *

Slipping out of bed, Lyanna looked over her shoulder to Rhaegar's prone form. He too had turned on his side, facing away from her. He'd not reacted to her movement and he seemed to be asleep. This was her chance, Kneeling, she stretched herself out on the floor and crawled under the bed, her hands feeling around for whatever object she had seen.

Her fingers finally met something hard in their path. Lyanna traced the shape of the object to the best of her ability. It seemed to be a small chest of some sort. In the dark, she had little chance of rifling through its contents, thus Lyanna decided to withdraw and see to it in the morning

Quietly, she pushed herself back, wincing as the bed creaked with movement. She hoped it wasn't Rhaegar waking up. Lyanna had no explanation for what she'd been doing of the floor and she certainly wouldn't wish to offer one to her husband. Sweet he might b e, bright not.

Thankfully, as she came, she saw that while had had moved a bit, he was still asleep. Lyanna slipped beneath the covers and closed her eyes, wonder if she ought to be counting weirwood leaves to help her find oblivion. The feel of her partner so very near did not let her sleep though. It was much too strange. She felt restless.

Relentless, it came to her again, that feeling of misplacement, of something not being quite right. Lyanna rolled on her stomach and buried her face in her pillow, trying to dislodge it. Of course not all was well, but she needn't acknowledge it. It would serve best be on her guard and to find a way to please the King in his demands. Aside from that, she ought not to concern herself.

How long she laid there thinking and planning Lyanna did not know. But when she did open her eyes once more, the room was bathed in a low diffuse light. It came from behind her, so she sat up and looked over her shoulder. The sun was rising. As thin tendrils of warm light crept into the bedchamber, along all surfaces, a smile curled Lyanna's lips.

She glanced towards her husband and noted he slept. Thanking all the gods, Lyanna slithered out from beneath the covers and crawled her way back under the bed. It had been a chest. She wrapped her arms around it. It was a bit bigger than she'd imagined. Carefully, she pushed it towards the foot of the bed and into the dim light of dawn.

It was not locked. There was a simple sort of latch which she undid with as little sound as possible, keeping her eyes on Rhaegar the whole time. He did not stir. Lyanna looked down and was surprise to discover it was filled with papers.

Picking up one, she examined its contents. It struck her that the material was familiar and in that instant she was transported back to the library and Arthur Dayne. She was certain she was right in her suspicion. Lyanna looked through the rest of them. So many books. But these were only passages. She tried to find a pattern to it, but feared lingering would only give Rhaegar a chance to wake up. She wasn't ready to question yet much as she wanted to.

Indeed, when next she happened by Ser Dayne in the library, she would watch him with utmost attention.

* * *

Rhaegar forced himself to lie still and not make a sound as the soft sounds which came from the other end of the bed. He might have exerted himself to stop Lyanna from searching the room, but he needed, for some strange reason he could not pin down, to know her reaction. He needed to know what she would do in these circumstances.

He felt the bed dip a third time and a wave of heat lapped at his back. He knew she had not gone to sleep by the pattern of her breathing. And she felt awake, thrumming with energy. Biting the inside of his cheek to give himself something other to contemplate than his wife, Rhaegar looked away from the sunlit blanket.

For one moment he considered turning around, slinging an arm over her waist and pretending on to be lost in the world of dreams. He stopped himself, of course. If anything was to come of their marriage then it had to be on her making

At his back Lyanna shifted. Her foot touched one of his legs and he felt her tense suddenly. She withdrew as if he'd burned her. Then it came back, the pressure, gentle, but determined. She did not pull away a second time.

* * *

Arthur had been surprised at his friend's words. Rhaegar seemed to have some strange idea that his bride would help if she found out his secret. He refrained from pointing out that she'd been more or less strong armed into wedding him and was just as likely to dig his grave as she was to aid. If that was the Prince's decision, he would follow as he'd always done.

Thus, when Lyanna Stark walked into the library, her eyes falling on him, Arthur resisted the urge to draw away from her. She levelled him a fairly suspicious look before sauntering in his direction. "Ser Dayne, I find you here again."

"So you do, my lady." He watched as she peered down at his book. "Is there anything–"

"Aye, I was wondering if I might have a few words with you." Her hand barely touched his sleeve and he saw her lips move into forming a word. "Since you've read Maester Talyn's work, I thought you might be able to explain a few matters to me."

Young, but not stupid. Wilful besides. A dangerous combination is Arthur had ever seen one. "Of course I would. Shall we have a seat?"

"Nay, 'tis awfully drafty here." She made a show of shivering. Arthur was unconvinced given she came from a much cooler climate, but he followed her nonetheless, becoming aware that they were heading towards Rhaegar's rooms.

An advantage to the feigned condition was that the Prince was kept out of the way of most other and was rarely, if ever in need of much caution within his own chambers. No one would bother wasting predacious resourced on him. Aside from his lady wife it would seem.

* * *

The chest was gone. Lyanna's eyes narrowed at the empty spot under the bed. She turned around to look at the Kingsguard and nodded towards one of the chairs. "A moment, ser." Passing into the other room, she saw Rhaegar sitting near a window looking outside.

"Your Grace," she called, gaining his attention. When he looked at her, she got the very same feeling she'd had upon their first meeting. His gaze was focused, intent. And then it mellowed. "Come along, Your Grace, we have guest."

"A guest?" he questioned softly, slowly rising from his seat. Lyanna resisted the urge to shake him and see if she might knock his wits back into his head.

Instead, she nodded and took him by the arm. She was missing some pieces, but she was not daft. It was quite clear that Arthur knew something she did not and she would find out. One way or another. She would not be thwarted.

Once she made her appearance back into the bedchamber, Lyanna noted that Arthur had grown tense. Pleased, she bade her husband to sit and came behind his hair, resting one hand against his shoulder as if to secure him.

"I've little patience for games, and the twp of you would lead me a merry dance were I to allow it." Her direct manner startled both men. Lyanna had never been the patient sort. "Don't take on so. One of you will explain to me what those papers in the chest were and why in the name of the gods would the Prince need to send a Kingsguard to the library for him."

Arthur Dayne looked at her husband then. Lyanna clicked her tongue in dismay. "The sooner the better, or should I seek help."

"You could," Rhaegar allowed. And then it was her turn to be startled as his hand gripped at her wrist almost painfully. "But if you did, have no doubt, my lady, that I would end you. An explanation will require a promise."

"If the explanation is pertinent you shall have your promise. But not one moment before I hear it." She rather thought he was amused. "Your Grace."

The explanation she did receive was not one which had been contrived to put her at ease. It seemed she'd wedded a soothsayer who was running from his own fate. And so far he'd avoided it with spectacular success. "You see, my lady, I never meant to wed, and this certainly complicated matters a great deal."

She could use it to her advantage. Lyanna nodded her head. "Well then, I propose a trade. I shall keep silent upon this matter and even help however I can. In exchange, I want to ensure the safety of my house. I need–"

"A child, aye." Rhaegar stood up then, half-facing her. "Two years limit, is it not?" She nodded her head. He then looked at Ser Dayne. "Arthur, I do believe you have found yourself a helper. Be off then, I do believe your duty is waiting."

* * *

"Could you not have simply renounced your claim to the throne?" she asked later, as she was organising the notes. "Why go through all this trouble."

"If a plan is to work, then it has to be believable. I had no reason, ever, to give up my claim. Nor would I have been allowed to at the time, as I was my father's sole child. My only option was to convince all and sundry of my unsuitability for the position." He handed her another piece of paper.

"Does it not bother you, then, all thus pretending?" He was a curious sort, to be sure. Prideful and cautious and perhaps a bit damaged.

"Of course it does." He was the one forced to act the idiot, after all. "But I admit to being too fond of living to do anything else."

"And you believe that this shall work?" Lyanna was sceptical. "I will be the first to say that I should like nothing better, but the realm is thriving. And most lords are privileged. I doubt they'd be willing to give any of it up just to uphold ideals. Besides, Viserys is young. Much too young to rule."

"Aye, but he would have Lord Lannister as one of his regents." Of course, Tywin Lannister. Lyanna bit her lower lip and listened. "If there is anyone who could hold the reins of power, then it is him."

"What of you then?" The more proper question would have been _what of us_ , but Lyanna could not bring herself to say the words. "You would willingly hand over the realm to him?"

"You'll find, lady wife, that I would willingly do quite a bit for the realm. If it brings prosperity, then I am willing to part with any grand titles. It behoved one to know how much of a burden they can carry."

"No doubt you are correct." Standing to her feet, Lyanna walked around him. "But you would need to convince Lord Lannister of it. What could possibly induce him to act if favour of this?"

"He has a daughter, doesn't he?" Ah, aye, Cersei Lannister. Lyanna had nearly forgotten. "He's an ambitious man. We can count on that."

"A crown then. I suppose if sufficiently ambitious, he would do it." But first the seed had to be planted. "Do you suppose that Cersei Lannister should accept my invitation were I to send her one?"

* * *

Another discovery was made by the time they'd retired to bed. Since she had shown her willingness to uphold her part of the bargain, Rhaegar would uphold his. Lyanna hadn't been exactly sure of what she ought to do, but she found that instinct was much help. And truly her husband's touch was pleasant. The added element of secrecy only made it all the more thrilling.

In the midst of it all, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held onto him, felling vulnerable and powerful by turns, along with the give and take of their endeavour. If this was the way people went about making babes, then it was little wonder the population increased as it did.

After, she turned on her side, strangely sated and looked at Rhaegar's profile, eyes tracing the lines. Two years. Lyanna could not decide if she ought to be praying for a child to be conceived this night, or if she should pray it came later. She hadn't thought she would enjoy it nearly as much as she had.

"You should sleep," her husband told her after a long silence.

Instead of listening to him, Lyanna drew herself closer, pressing into his side, then slowly rising. She gave him a small smile. One raised eyebrow later and she was sitting astride him, fully convinced that her face had caught flame. It was brazen and wanton and he did not seem to mind it one bit.

"I am not yet tired," she answered. She was. Just not ready to sleep.

"Let us see if we can achieve the right state of exhaustion then."

* * *

Cersei Lannister wrinkled her nose and shot Lyanna a mildly sympathetic glance. "He is an odious man, that King. To have you married to a halfwit. I do not know where you find your strength, Your Grace."

"We must all get by, my lady," Lyanna offered with a small shrug. It amused her, this sort of reaction. Despite her better knowledge, Lyanna had continued to act as if as was in possession of a child, rather than a husband before the eyes of others. A deal was a deal, after all, and she had never been one for sharing.

"I suppose you are right." Cersei took a lemon cake and bit into it gingerly. "While I admire your endurance, Your Grace, I cannot help but wonder at this meeting. For what purpose was I called here?"

Knowing that spoken words had a way of betraying the speaker, Lyanna took her own lemon cake. She carefully pulled out a small piece of paper from her sleeve and slipped it under it as she set it down. The contrast in colours had Cersei's attention even as Lyanna spoke. "If it is not too presumptuous of me, I should be delighted to count you among my friends here at court. I've little proper company, you see."

"I do see, Your Grace." Cersei pulled the slip of paper into her own sleeve. "I believe that we shall get along, you and I."

"It is to be hoped," Lyanna agreed.

* * *

Lyanna had written to her father even before speaking to Cersei Lannister. Her message had been simple and effective. _I miss you dearly._ Her father's had been equal to hers. _I shall be in King's Landing soon._

And he was. Rickard Stark was allowed to see his daughter, much to Lyanna's relief who had been waiting with baited breath. Rhaegar had elected to keep away. That she understood. The fewer who knew, the better.

So it was that she found herself in the company of her lord father unsure of how to proceed. No doubt the King's Spider had sent little birds a-spying. It occurred to her that she might try setting a later meeting. But time was not as much as she would have liked it to be.

"Brandon has wedded his Tully maiden and we were much saddened by your absence." Lyanna hadn't known. The King allowed little communication with the outside world. "Eddard has taken the road South, to Dorne."

"It was to be expected, lord father." Even a blind man could have seen the reason why. "He should be returning with a bride of his own then. How lovely. Now Benjen is the only one left. I do believe I might make some suggestions."

Her father scowled lightly. "There is a debt to settle." Well, father knew as well, Lyanna was much relieved. "If there is ever need."

"There is always need," she laughed lightly. "I've been thinking, lately, that I miss our rides into the wolfswood. Do you remember the fires Brandon could make? They were by far the biggest and strongest. I wish to start an even bigger one."

"Then you will need quite a lot of wood." Understanding had already dawned in her father's eyes. "The best wood of the North ought to keep one warm throughout the night."

"And I should be very pleased to have some of it," Lyanna replied.

"You may have all of it."

* * *

Tywin Lannister's eyes narrowed in what Lyanna could only term to be a glare. She straightened her posture instinctively and drew her arm through her father's. She had discussed this with Rhaegar. It ought to work.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" the man questioned. He was aptly described as a lion, Lyanna reckoned.

"Merely that my lord look to the best interest of the realm." Her father had answered for her, but Lyanna would not keep silent either.

"My lord is well aware that some situations need to be put a stop to. It would be advantageous for all involved." She stepped a little away from her father. I see the suspicion in your eyes, my lord. It is commendable. But perhaps it would soothe you to know that I am not at all disinterested in all this. I mean to claim my own share if all goes well." That seemed to work.

"And what would it be, Your Grace?" Lord Lannister questioned.

"Safety, for me and whatever children my marriage produces, along with non-involvement. I already have another person to care for. It is simply impossible for me to concern myself with much else." Aye. She could see he was thinking upon it. "We must all do what we can, my lord, for the greatness of our house."

He gave a sharp nod. "I will consider your words carefully, Your Grace." He bowed and left both Lyanna and Rickard in the tunnel.

"He shall aid us," her father assured her.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"The way he looked."

* * *

The King was ill. It seemed he had caught a chill and was taken down with a fever. Lyanna had more pressing concerns at the moment, however, to be put at ease by such news. Her courses had stopped coming. Entirely. She was yet one year into her marriage. If she was indeed with child, then her family would be well protected from the King's wrath. Yet how to be certain? And how to make him certain of the fact.

Who knew how long the blasted man would live. And he might yet decide to cause mischief with his dying breath.

"I do not think it matters any longer, Your Grace," Arthur Dyane imparted upon her softly. "He can barely remember his own name through the fever. It is unlikely that he would concern himself with House Stark at his point." But not entirely impossible.

"You and I shall be soon family," Lyanna told him. "At the very least I need assurance from Lord Lannister."

"That can be arranged." His response extracted a nod of the head from her. "Does the Prince know?"

"I shall tell him when the time is right."

* * *

"Summerhall shall be rebuilt," Tywin Lannister was saying to her. "It shan't be as grand, but it should do. I expect the running of a small keep is not beyond your powers, Your Grace."

"Not at all, my lord," Lyanna offered. The King was dying. He'd been abed for more than a couple of days, lost in troubled sleep. "I should, however, like permission for my husband and I to retire to Winterfell until preparations are made." Distance would be best between them.

Lord Lannister seemed of the same mind. "After all is settled." It was as much of a promise as she was likely to get.

* * *

The funeral had been a thing of grandeur, as befitted a monarch. Lyanna had kept her eyes on the ground, on account of not being a good enough actress to produce tears. All in all, she was quite pleased with how it had all progressed. Her house was safe for the moment and her own family was unlikely to be much bothered by these events.

It was just as well, she thought, looking at her husband's appropriately mournful mien. Her hand surreptitiously searched for his, hooking a lithe fingers around his. He gave a gentle squeeze but seemed no more aware of her than she of him.

* * *

"I daresay you shall like Winterfell," Lyanna murmured against his shoulder, out of breath. "It is nice and there is a large library. If anyone asks, I shall tell them I am exercising my diction."

He laughed. "Mayhap I could shed the mask now. Viserys already has his crown."

"That would certainly be interesting, or disastrous. They could think I've been practicing witchcraft on you." She felt his hand brush against the soft curve of her middle. Something swelled in her breast.

"Witchcraft sounds much like it." His fingers stroked the soft skin. "Let us see how much more magic we can make between the two of us."

"I do like your daring." How strange. A year ago she would have thought herself the most unfortunate person to have ever inhabited the Seven Kingdoms. Strange and wonderful.


End file.
